Commuter Spy: The bedroom extension

Our Man On The Train is inspired by the world of eye masks and duvets.

"The Three Musketeers reunited," said John, my erstwhile duellist. I hadn't seen him, or Cliff, the South African NHS Middle Manager, for weeks. There was a time when we shared the platform every day. But somewhere along the line, things had changed.

"I've been getting the 06:18," John continued. "Now I'm back to old faithful." He was referring to the 08:48.

"I've been working on other projects here and there, round and about," added Cliff, mysteriously. He looked more unkempt than I remembered, but equally self-assured. "I'll be back on this beat now for a while." He cleared his throat with a manly hack and scratched his stubble. A fantastical thought popped into my mind. I dismissed it. Of course he wasn't a mercenary.

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"No, not busy. Just grim. People see it as an extension of their bedroom. They get on with all sorts, eye masks, ear plugs, pillows, even duvets."

"Duvets?"

"Duvets. There's this one bloke who always brings this stripy duvet on with him." There was a pause.

"Not a bad idea, if you think about it," grunted Cliff.

The train arrived. As our door approached, we noticed an insalubrious figure scuttling along beside it. The door cam eto a halt precisely where we were standing, and as one, we Three Musketeers stepped forwards, forming a horseshoe around the door. The figure came to an abrupt halt, and was forced to the back of the queue. We exchanged furtive smirks. All for one and one for all.

I was hung-over that morning. That's the problem when a number of deadlines converge midweek; the pressure is relieved and you have a couple of drinks in celebration, as if it were the weekend. Then you're taken by surprise by work the next day.

On the train, I pondered that somnambulent 06:18. Duvets. Eye masks. Ear plugs. The whole thing was rather appealing. Would it be possible to apply the same principle to the 08:48?

As regular readers will recall, I always have a pair of "Mack's" earplugs in my bag. I screwed them in, muffling the world. My head was swimming, and my face felt heavy. I made sure that neither phone nor wallet was visible, propped my head in the corner and fell into a doze.

I was awoken by my own loud snore. Sheepishly, I glanced around the carriage; John was chuckling to himself and shaking his head. But it was almost time to get off, and to my amazement I was feeling refreshed. Outside the sky was brilliant blue. I sprang to my feet, ready for the day ahead.

Completing your night's sleep on the train: a revelation! I disembarked, ignoring the glares of the door-crawler, and stepped out into the sunshine. I'll get myself an eye mask, I thought. And a duvet.